


Emotions

by orphan_account



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Drinking, I mean it's Jason guys, Smoking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A study of different emotions Jason Todd experiences that I've been on and off working on for the past few months.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just felt like exploring different emotions Jason experiences. Please let me know if there's any errors!

Depression:

Jason wouldn't say he is suicidal, but then again he isn't not suicidal.

He's reckless as shit, throwing himself headfirst into situations that any sane person would have shied away from instantly. He has no regard for his life, the only life he holds lower regard for than his own being the scum of the streets, the drug dealing, murdering, abusive rapists of the filth that littered Gotham street.

There was more than one night where he'd hold the gun first in his hands, and then against his head, his fingers shaking ever so slightly and his breathing shaking too, before he'd put it down.

It's not like anyone cared, either way.

Why would they?

Bruce proved that to him, when he didn't kill Joker. Didn't kill the man that took Jason away from him, and instead let the scumbag live and breathe and, not literally, but figuratively, walk free amongst his future victims. Even when Jason threatened him with his own life, Bruce wouldn't do it.

His hand clenches, and he huffs out a sharp breath, relieving some of the tension in his chest. Jason always shoves his emotions away, and they rest like a cold, hard ball of lead in his stomach, numb and detached.

His throat tightens as he watches the Batman flying across the skies again, followed by another Robin. Another kid he'd end up leading to his death, Jason muses, as he takes a long drag from the cigarette held between two fingers. It stung, smarted, how easily he'd been replaced.

It hadn't even been that long of a time after he died, and Bruce had gone and found himself a new dog to have trailing at his heel, to heed his command.

For a person who claimed to not feel anything- Jason sure hurt a whole damn lot.

 

Cruelty:

"You're just another little toy, for him to use, and then get rid of like every other Robin." He taunts, jumping as Damian sends a sweeping kick aimed at his legs towards him. "Shut up!" The boy yells viciously, and Jason smirks, careless for how his words are hurting the other.

"Look at your predecessors- Dickface left, and B-man didn't do a thing. The replacement was forced out of being Robin, he didn't even want Stephanie- Hell, I died, and he didn't even think twice before he put the replacement out onto the field. How long do you think you'll last, huh?"

There's angry tears gathered in Damian's eyes, and Jason almost, almost feels a twinge of pity before his heart hardens, sneer twisting. "Just because you're his spawn, doesn't mean anything to him." Jason spits, resting on a ledge above Damian. The fifth Robin wasn't fighting anymore, and Jason cocks his head to the side, putting a mocking pout on his face.

"Is the baby of the family having daddy issues now?" He asks in a sweetly patronizing tone, and almost doesn't get out of the way in time when Damian throws a batarang at him, the sharp edge nearly burying itself into his flesh. "It fits, doesn't it? Mommy didn't want you either, and Daddy can toss you out when you're old enough to live on your own. You can have a matching set of hurt feelings now, to go with that bruised pride."

Nightwing arrives then, and Jason just watches with a slightly bored expression as the blue and black clad hero sends a scathing glare full of loathing at him.

"You wonder why nobody likes having you around?" Dick spits, and Jason just feigns a yawn, pretending to rest against the ledge he's perched on.

"It's because you treat them like shit, Jason. You're an asshole."

"Ouch, my feelings. Let me go cry myself to sleep in my room now." Jason sneers, getting to his feet and watching with amusement as Dick quickly puts himself between Jason and Damian. "Think about what I said, brat." He calls over to Damian, who clenches his fists and struggles against Dick, who now has to hold him back. "It won't be long before you're on the bad list like blue boy here, and out the door."

 

Anger:

The last time he was this mad- well, Jason doesn't really remember. It involved drinking, guns, and blood. A lot of blood.

Much like this time.

He's yelling, he knows that, but he's not really able to hear what he's saying. It doesn't matter, anyways. This warehouse is large enough that no one's going to hear him screaming in the heart of it, and anyone who might've heard him was inside, and is now dead.

Vaguely he can feel himself collapsing to his hands and knees, his face streaked with a mixture of tears and snot, and the air has the putrid smell of corpses and the metallic tang of fresh blood. Nothing escapes his wrath- windows, doors, lightbulbs, old machinery- all of it is shot until the building is filled with bullet holes, and his gun clips are empty.

Anyone, even a child, could walk in and kill him right now. Could take his own weapons, and kill him, he's so incapacitated and numb and detached from himself and his surroundings.

The sharp scent of whisky is in the air- no, it's on him, spilled on his jacket and traces of it on his hands. His chest heaves with heavy breaths as he tries to ground himself, fingernails cutting crescents into his palms as he clenches his hands into fists.

With a shuddering breath he gets to his feet slowly, swaying slightly on the spot before turning on his heel and stalking out the door.

The police'll be here soon enough, they can clean this up.

 

Loneliness:

It's like a hole in his chest, a gaping empty hole that can't be filled with sex, alcohol, or even going out and shooting up a bunch of gang members.

If he closes his eyes it's almost a real, tangible thing, and he envisions that he can touch it, sink his fingers through the hole in his chest and have his fingers brush against fragmented bone and his own heart.

Not that he actually has one. Who's to say that he didn't crawl out of that Lazarus pit figuratively and literally heartless?

His breath clouds in the chilly Gotham air, the weather cold but clear for once. Even so, he's not able to see the sky above because of the thick layer of smog that continually covers the town, factories belching black clouds of smoke and chemicals up into the atmosphere.

"If Gotham was a person, they'd have a smoking problem." He muses to himself, as he lights up a cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply. A beer bottle hangs loosely from his fingertips, and he puts it down before it shatters, next to other empty bottles and old filters from previous cigarettes.

He senses, more than actually hears, the person behind him landing on the rooftop quietly. His hackles go up before Dick comes into view, his expression unreadable as he takes a seat a little bit aways from Jason.

"Not here to try and cart me back to Arkham?" Jason scoffs, fingering the handle of his knife meaningly. Dick shakes his head, tilting it back and looking up at the black and grey sky. "No."

It's not spoken, but Jason appreciates it. Appreciates the company. Even if they're going to go back to trying to fight each other sometime in the next hour or so. He even goes as far as to silently offer Dick a beer, who accepts just as silently, twisting the cap of the bottle off and raising it to his lips.

And for a little while, the hole doesn't hurt as much.

 

Fear:

As hard as he tries to deny it Jason's terrified.

Cackling laughter echoes around him, and his heart rate picks up quickly before he wills it to go down, palms slick and hands shaking as he clenches them into tight fists.

"Doesn't this remind you of another night, long before? Similar conditions, the same sharp scent of fear, lingering in the air..."

There's barely any warning before the crowbar swings into the light and collides with Jason's ribcage, a pained groan escaping him as he can feel ribs giving out underneath the harsh blow. His breathing is ragged, and the vigilante forces himself back into a sitting position, his arms tied painfully behind the back of the chair he's seated on. His heart is beating fast, way too fast, and his throat is clenching up and choking him.

Joker's lurking right outside of the dim light, far back enough so that Jason can't see him but close enough so that the deranged maniac can reach him with his rusty, blood stained crowbar. His lung is definitely punctured- each breath sends fire down into his torso and a wet, hacking cough brings up blood, the dark red flecking across his jeans.

"Tsk tsk... And here, I thought you'd hold out longer- Ol Batsy was right, you really are such a disappointment!"

On the final word of his sentence the metal bar is swung with such force that it breaks Jason's leg, and the chair leg behind his leg. He lets out a sharp yell of pain as the chair tilts forwards and topples onto the floor, his broken limb lying twisted underneath his body.

Sucking a ragged gasp in through his teeth, Jason grits his teeth and rolls onto his side, instinctively protecting his torso as Joker steps closer into the light, his bright red lips stretched into an eerie, unnatural grin. "Sing for me, little birdy! Let me hear your voice!" The clown croons, before his features twist into something darker, and more malicious. "Don't make me resort to my... Other, methods."

As the crowbar is brought down again, and again, Jason fights to keep breathing, to not let the choking fear and panic swallow him. It's another long ten minutes of beating before there's a crash somewhere distant in the warehouse, and Joker's head snaps up. "Better not be any party poopers, I was just getting started..." He growls, before the smile is back in place.

"I'll be back in just a moment, it'd be in your best interest to stay exactly where you are." The clown says sweetly, resting the crowbar against his shoulder. "I'm sure my men will be happy to take care of you if you insist otherwise..."

Jason's not entirely sure how he managed, but he escaped. Everything up to arriving at his apartment in extreme pain is a blur, and he only remembers a flash of black and blue inside his living room as he manages to drag himself through the window, before collapsing into unconsiousness.

 

Peacefulness:

It's rare that Jason ever feels relaxed.

Living the life of a vigilante will do that to you. Between getting shot at, chased, shooting at and chasing, there isn't much time left for simply relaxing and sitting back.

But, there are moments that are far and few inbetween, where he's able to kick back, and not worry about whether or not he's going to die tomorrow.

His favourite spot is a small diner, a block away from his apartment. The first time he went here he was skeptical about the quality of the food, but now he'll swear by it anytime- it's the best damn diner in the city.

"More coffee, hun?"

Jason looks up, befre nodding his head and pushing his cup towards the elderly lady paused at his table with a coffee carafe. "Thanks, May- I'll have some more of that strawberry rhubarb pie if you've still got some left." He says with a grin, and she smiles at him. "Of course, dear, I always have some waiting."

That's the nice thing about being a regular someplace, Jason thinks. They get to know you, and your preferences- and you get to know them.

Cupping the mug of coffee in his hands, he takes a sip of the dark liquid and watches the steam rise lazily above the mug's rim, curling up towards the ceiling.

Outside, the sky is a dark grey as lighting strikes somewhere above the city, and rain starts to pour torrentially onto the streets, drenching the people still in the road. "Typical Gotham weather." He snorts into his coffee, and May shakes her head as she puts a plate down beside him. "It's been raining the whole week. We could do with a bit of sunshine now and then."

Jason nods absently, thanking her before resuming his watch of the weather outside the window. Sun would be nice, but there was something he found pleasing in the smell, and sound of a thundershower.

 

Happiness:

He doesn't express happiness as easily as others. Take Dick, for example- he was more readable than a book, and any emotion was easily displayed on his face. Jason knows he himself is hard to read, and he doesn't do anything to make it easier. Why should he?

It's still there, however. Small smiles that he fails to cover up, and on rare occasions genuine laughter. After they get over the period where they're all at each other's throats, that comes a lot easier, and a lot more often.

The first time they all heard him laugh, genuinely laugh, not mockingly or spitefully, they're completely startled. Damian actually takes a few steps back from him. There's a moment of stunned silence, then Dick chuckles and slings his arm over Jason's shoulder. "There's the Lil' Wing I know!" He beams, and Jason scowls half heartedly, annoyed by all the attention focused on him. "Dickface." He mutters, and the slightly awkward silence is broken by Tim snorting.

"You jumped." He teases, and the small assassin glares at him. "I did not." Damian sniffs haughtily, and Dick rolls his eyes. "Damian, you jumped. Admit it, and save yourself a world of trouble."

Damian continues to vhemently deny it, and Jason watches the following quarrel with a soft smile that doesn't go unnoticed by the others.

"Jason's smiling! The world is going to end!" Stephanie groans dramatically, slinging a hand across her brow, and he mock scowls at her.

"Shut up, Brown."


End file.
